


Gold

by mintyleaves



Category: The Great Gatsby (2013)
Genre: Anal Sex, Basically a booty call, Casual Sex, I do what I want, M/M, Oral Sex, Unrequited Love, bottom!gatsby, kinda sad, kinda sexy, top!Nick, unconventional sentence structure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:42:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24087553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintyleaves/pseuds/mintyleaves
Summary: When Gatsby came to his window in the dead of night, there was only one thing on his mind. And as much as Nick tried, he just couldn’t resist him.
Relationships: Nick Carraway/Jay Gatsby
Comments: 9
Kudos: 100





	Gold

Unable to stop himself, convince himself otherwise, Nick reached for the curtain and tugged it back, just enough to peer outside. Sure enough, Gatsby’s figure occupied his window. He was far enough that Nick couldn’t make out the details of his face, but he knew it was fixed downward, watching Nick’s window in anticipation. 

Gatsby’s room was lit, not overwhelmingly, but just enough to cast a warm golden glow on the outline of his silhouette. 

Nick wondered if the dim light of a single table lamp gave enough illumination for Gatsby to see the slight rustle of the curtain, betraying how Nick’s curiosity got the better of him once again.

Curious for what, exactly? 

He couldn’t be curious when he knew exactly what was going on. 

And Gatsby did too, which is why he stood at his window, a story above Nick’s, and waited patiently for Nick to show himself like he knew he would. 

He stepped back, away from the window, telling himself it wasn’t worth it. That he wouldn’t be walking back home in the morning, feeling like shit for being so hopelessly in love with the man. 

But Nick wasn’t that strong, and he turned around, drawing the curtain back completely this time so that Gatsby could see him. 

Nick shifted his weight between his feet, eyes locked on Gatsby’s figure. He wanted to close the curtain, feel the sheer fabric between his fingers as he pulled it across the rod.

Instead, he brought his hands up to his white shirt. It was the same one he wore to work that day, now unbuttoned casually at the top. His fingers found the third button down and undid it while his gaze remained fixed on Gatsby. 

The man in the window inclined his head and itched his neck. He tugged on his collar, still completely buttoned up. 

And with that, Nick left his window, went out the front door, and crossed over to Gatsby’s yard. 

It was a weird little code system they had. Nick would undo a button on his shirt and Gatsby would touch his neck, so that they both knew they were on the same page. Not that there was any need for a code system, really. 

When Gatsby came to his window in the dead of night, there was only one thing on his mind.

Nick. 

He let himself in through one of the side doors that Gatsby kept unlocked specifically for occasions like these. 

It was an entrance to an old servant’s wing, which was no longer in use, thus making it the ideal path for Nick to come in. To get to Gatsby’s room however, he had to walk through the main hall. 

With how late it was, the mansion was practically empty albeit a few servants finishing up their chores. By now they knew who Nick was and they’d smartly avert their gazes when he was in the same room as them.

Nick wasn’t sure if he should be thankful or hurt that none of the servants would meet his eyes. Either way, it was what it was and after awhile, Nick just learned to ignore it.

He continued on towards Gatsby’s room, the familiarity of the route causing his heart to ache. 

He could turn around and go back home. Get some rest. 

But this was Gatsby. How could Nick say no to Gatsby? 

He was gold. He was shiny and enticing. He was the lining of the clouds when the sun sank over the horizon. He was the glimmering jewelry that twinkled in the light. He was the bubbly champagne that Nick couldn’t get enough of. 

Maybe that’s why he kept coming back, finding himself standing in front of the door to Gatsby’s bedroom. 

It was cracked ever so slightly, just enough to invite Nick in. He pushed the heavy door open and found Gatsby standing casually by his end table. He was wearing a plain button down and slacks held up by his suspenders. The almost empty glass flute on the table caught Nick’s eye before Gatsby brought his focus back to why Nick was really there. 

“Old sport,” he said, smiling suggestively. 

Nick didn’t respond. There was no use in talking when there was nothing to be said. They both knew why Nick was here.

He stepped in, shut the door behind him, and crossed over to where Gatsby stood, grabbing his hips and bringing their mouths together. The abruptness caught him off guard and took him a second to realize what was happening before he eased into Nick’s embrace and kissed him back.

Nick took a hand off Gatsby’s hip and brought it up to his neck, brushing his over his jaw with his thumb. Gatsby pulled away, meeting Nick’s eyes with a smile. 

He leaned back in, lightly kissing a spot below Nick’s ear before dragging his lips lower to where Nick’s unbuttoned shirt exposed his collarbone. 

Nick bit his lip, his face on fire with a heat quickly burning a trail through his body and to his cock. He pushed Gatsby’s suspenders down. 

And yet, the ache in his heart was still there, still asking him what he was doing. 

Somehow Gatsby’s touch simultaneously dulled and sharpened that ache. 

His fingers worked on the button’s of Nick’s shirt and he took the suggestion, pushing Gatsby back onto the bed. 

He’d seen Nick naked. He’d seen every inch of bare skin. But Gatsby watched him undress with an appreciation that made it seem like it was the first time again. His eyes moved over Nick’s exposed chest slowly, drinking it all in. 

Nick let his shirt fall to the floor and climbed between Gatsby’s legs, pushing his shoulders down into the bed. 

Even with Nick looming over him, Gatsby’s eyes were still fixed on Nick’s chest, his hand resting over Nick’s heart, fingers spread. He smiled, not because of Nick but because of the smooth skin under his fingertips. 

His eyes did flicker up to Nick’s for a second, but then they moved to his lips and his hand pulled Nick down for a kiss. 

Nick slipped his tongue between Gatsby’s lips, drinking him in as if he were the finest champagne. 

He kissed him harder and moved his knee between Gatsby’s legs, the contact enough to draw a low moan from his lips. 

Nick pulled away to get a look at the man beneath him. His current disheveled appearance of messy hair and a half-buttoned shirt drew a stark contrast from the clean and put-together front that was the character Jay Gatsby. Nick took a moment to revel in it- the fact that he got to see Gatsby like this, in a way that no one else did. 

Even though it didn’t mean anything. 

The sex was just sex and had been since the night Nick got drunk and couldn’t help but kiss him.

He moved to straddle Gatsby, the friction of the motion causing him to gasp and firmly grab Nick’s hips. 

Nick wondered how this could be so impersonal when it felt so intimate. How Gatsby’s wide eyes weren’t a reaction to Nick at all, but rather just a reflex to being touched. How Gatsby moved to kiss Nick’s neck while his hands still held Nick’s hips in a way that just felt possessive. 

But Nick could question it later, because right now he was with Gatsby, who was grinding his hips in a way that made it very obvious what it was he wanted. 

“Shirt-” Nick muttered, pulling away from the onslaught of kisses Gatsby was leaving along his collarbone. 

“Right,” Gatsby agreed, sitting up and struggling to undo the rest of the buttons. 

Nick got off his spot on Gatsby’s lap, turning his attention to his own slacks which were still in the way. He watched as Gatsby tossed his shirt off the bed.

Nick’s eyes caught the noticeable tent in Gatsby’s pants and he moved to take them off, cock swelling at what was underneath.

If only their meetings weren’t just meetings. What Nick wouldn’t give to wake up next to Gatsby, intertwined under the sheets in each other’s arms. 

If only.

Gatsby reached out for Nick to come back and he did, bringing their lips together and resuming his place on Gatsby’s lap. The decrease in layers did wonders for Nick’s cock and he whined at the sensation. 

Gatsby looked gorgeous beneath him. His breathing was heavy and cheeks flushed a rosy pink. Strands of golden hair fell in his face as he rocked his hips up against Nick’s ass. 

Nick kissed him again, knowing damn well he could get drunk on Gatsby’s kisses alone. Everything about the man was intoxicating, drawing Nick in deeper and deeper until Gatsby was the only thing that mattered. 

That was why he drew back the curtains.

Because Gatsby was inevitable. 

Gatsby tossed his head to the side, eyes screwed shut as he focused on the steady rhythm of their hips together. Nick slid his hand down Gatsby’s chest, traveling lower and lower. 

The feel of Nick’s touch drew a sharp gasp from Gatsby’s perfect lips. Nick moved in to catch the bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Want me to suck your cock?” Nick offered, whispering the words slowly in a low voice. 

Gatsby whined, arching his back off the bed. 

Nick pulled away, strands of hair falling out of place. “Well?” He asked, pushing Gatsby for a direct answer. He watched the other man closely, his eyes half lidded but still intent on being met. 

Gatsby did, his eyes wide and dark as he looked into the emerald hue of Nick’s. “Yes.” He said breathlessly. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Nick, please.”

Hearing his name set Nick’s whole body on fire, one that spurred him on while simultaneously ripping him apart. 

To be acknowledged by his actual name rather than the usual “old sport”. The desperateness in Gatsby’s voice was almost enough to convince Nick that it was him Gatsby really wanted. No one else, just him. That Nick was the only one Gatsby needed. 

He gave Gatsby one last kiss before trailing a line down his neck and towards his navel. He stopped at the bulge in Gatsby’s boxers and slid the garment down. 

Nick kissed the head, just lightly brushing his lips over the slit of Gatsby’s cock. His hand wrapped around the base, giving him a few teasing strokes.

Gatsby squirmed impatiently.

“Eager?” Nick asked, taking the opportunity to look up through his eyelashes at the flushed mess in front of him. 

“Shit, Nick,” Gatsby whined, putting his hands on Nick’s shoulders in an attempt to direct him to his cock which was aching for attention. “Just-”

Nick kissed the inside of Gatsby’s thigh. “Just-” he repeated, giving his skin a little nip. “What? Use your words, Jay.”

Gatsby inhaled sharply. “Suck my cock, ol- Nick, please,” he said, slurring the words in a rush to get them out. 

Nick obliged, stretching his lips around the tip and sinking lower on Gatsby’s cock. He gave a greedy suck before sliding back up to suckle the tip. He worked his tongue around the head, encouraged by Gatsby’s ragged breathing. 

It didn’t take much, did it?

Nick moved back down towards the base before pulling away again, setting the pace slow to see just how far he could drag this out before Gatsby couldn’t take anymore. 

Why did he want to drag it out? 

For one, because Gatsby was addictive. Because Nick treasured every moment with him. And as much as rolling around in his sheets pierced his heart, it also felt ethereal. Like Nick was dreaming. The way their bodies moved together like they were built to fit together. 

Nick had always liked Gatsby, but when he touched him, the world seemed to catch a golden tint to it where everything was brighter.

And it was all because of him.

For two, it was Nick’s way of trying to prove to Gatsby that he needed him, that no one else could make him feel the way Nick did. That Nick was irreplaceable and worth keeping around. 

Maybe one day Gatsby would. 

If only. 

Until then, Nick settled with a slow pace of bobbing his head along Gatsby’s cock, savoring the feel of it in his mouth. 

Gatsby inched his hips off the bed, desperately trying to pick up the pace, get off quicker. 

Nick wondered how close he was. 

His hands locked on Gatsby’s hips and pinned them firmly against the bed. He shot Gatsby a look warning him that if he didn’t comply with Nick’s pace he would stop. 

It wasn’t true, of course. But Gatsby was needy enough to do anything for Nick’s mouth on his cock, even if it meant he had to restrain himself from fucking Nick’s throat. 

“So good,” Gatsby breathed. 

Nick figured the compliment was Gatsby’s way of trying to wheedle Nick into speeding things up. 

He pulled away from Gatsby’s cock, letting the head slide between his lips with a slick pop. He brought one hand up to push his hair back while the other stroked Gatsby’s cock. “Jay, fuck,” he swore, eyes half lidded, cheeks pink, and lips wet with spit.

An image of sex itself.

Gatsby groaned, guiding Nick back on his cock with a soft push on his shoulders. 

Nick obeyed, not being one to take direction but feeling satisfied with his ability to hit Gatsby in all the right places. 

It was enough to make his cock, still trapped in his boxers, ache to be touched. Nick grinded his hips against the bed, knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep the slow pace any longer. 

“I’m gonna cum,” Gatsby sighed, and Nick was mildly surprised he lasted as long as he did. 

Nick stopped abruptly, taking his mouth off Gatsby’s cock and watching him intensely. “Don’t.” Gatsby opened his mouth to protest but Nick was already nudging his thighs apart. “Let me fuck you first.”

Gatsby’s jaw went slack. He nodded, like that was the best idea he’d heard and swallowed hard. 

Gatsby shifted clumsily to the side to open his nightstand drawer and pull out the jar of Vaseline while Nick slid his boxers off and tossed them to the floor. 

His shaky hands fumbled with the lid and Nick, too impatient and hard, took it away from him. Nick had much less trouble getting the lid off, the need to be inside Gatsby starting to overwhelm him. He dug his fingers into the jar and rubbed a generous amount around Gatsby’s hole before prepping him.

“Okay,” Gatsby breathed. Nick pulled his hips up, watching intently as Gatsby’s face shifted at Nick sliding in. He sighed, eyes shut tight. “Fuck, Nick” he drawlled.

It took Nick everything he had not to cum on the spot. The way Gatsby’s voice sounded so strained and helpless. 

It brought back the aspect of intimacy that made Nick feel like everything and nothing.

Like he was the only thing Gatsby needed, even if it was just for a moment. 

Gatsby’s hand twisted in his sheets and Nick wanted to grab it, lace their fingers together, but he refrained. He put his hands on Gatsby’s hips instead, pulling him closer as he continued sliding in and out.

Gatsby’s other hand worked on stroking his cock in time with the snap of Nick’s hips. 

“So good Jay,” Nick praised, letting a hand wander over Gatsby’s bare stomach. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. He tried to say something else, but the words didn’t come out. 

Gatsby hummed in agreeance, finally opening his eyes just to fix them to the ceiling above them. 

Nick wondered what the point of facing each other was if Gatsby still wouldn’t meet his eyes. 

Nick wondered if it would hurt less if they were in a position where looking wasn’t an option at all.

Gatsby gasped, precum leaking from the head of his cock, hand still wrapped around the shaft.

Nick sped up, moving his hips faster, pushing Gatsby closer to orgasm, wondering if he could go as far as getting the man to look at him. 

Nick was close and Gatsby had to be too. He rolled his hips against Gatsby’s and relished in the delicious moans it drew.

Gatsby hissed a swear again, eyes screwed shut before they opened abruptly. Wide blue eyes found Nick’s, paired with pink wet lips parted in a breathless O. Gatsby held them there, cheeks darking considerably. 

It was faint, just barely audible. The small “Nick” that fell from Gatsby’s lips. 

And it was all Nick needed to go over the edge. 

He slid out and came up to catch Gatsby in a rough kiss, full of fire and want. His hand reached down between them, taking control and stroking their cocks together, the friction sending electricity through his body. 

“I’m gonna cum,” Gatsby sighed, his breath hot against Nick’s neck.

Nick gave him one last kiss before pulling away and turning his attention to Gatsby’s cock still hard against Nick’s.

Gatsby bucked his hips into Nick’s touch, crying out as he came, shooting strings of white over Nick’s fist and spilling over onto his stomach. 

Nick’s hand continued to work Gatsby through his orgasm while coaxing himself to cum.

Gatsby watched intently, lips glossy and parted as his chest rose and fell with each shaky breath. Only, his eyes were cast upwards this time, and behind heavy lids his blue eyes were filled with wonder when they met Nick’s. 

Nick came with a cry, specks of gold clouding his vision and causing his whole body to shake. 

Gatsby’s expression was warm when Nick came down and Nick wasn’t sure if it was a post-orgasm haze or if Gatsby’s lips were quirked in a smile. 

Naturally, Nick’s expression softened and he smiled back, so hopelessly enamored by him.

Gatsby broke into a dumb grin and Nick did too because how could he not?

And then he became aware of reality again and got up in search of a towel. Gatsby was still there when Nick got back, staring at the ceiling thoughtfully. 

Nick opened his mouth to ask him what he was thinking about, but when Gatsby turned to regard him Nick just said “Towel,” and offered it to him.

“Thanks old sport,” Gatsby said, and Nick knew it was over. He was “old sport” once again. He went back to being Gatsby’s friend. His neighbor. Just another guest at a party.

Golden sheets were strewn across Gatsby’s bed and Nick just wanted to crawl up next to him and bury his face in his neck and cling to him and never let him go. 

Nick noticed the growing silence and wondered if he should say something, but nothing felt important enough to say, and everything else felt too important to say. So he kept quiet. 

Gatsby tossed the towel on the floor and turned his attention to Nick, who was stepping back into his boxers.

“Well, old sport,” Gatsby said. He was smiling again, but it wasn’t real anymore. “You sure know to make a man happy.”

Nick turned away, pulling up his pants and biting his tongue because Gatsby didn’t realize how happy Nick could make him. He was oblivious and it hurt.

He picked up his shirt and shrugged it on, buttoning a couple at the top before realizing there was no point and letting the rest hang loose. 

He looked at the shoes left by the door and wondered if it was worth putting them back on. He blinked, heavily considering carrying them before remembering he had to walk outside to get back to his house and would rather not deal with rocks and sticks at whatever time it was.

He looked over the floor, making sure there weren’t any articles of clothes being forgotten. Not that it mattered too much. They were neighbors, afterall. 

His eyes landed on Gatsby, wrapped up in his blanket as he watched Nick gather his belongings. Nick shifted his weight awkwardly, not sure if he was missing something or if Gatsby was just waiting for him to take his leave. 

“Good night, old sport,” He said finally, and Nick wasn’t sure if he was devastated or relieved. 

He forced a smile before turning away and leaving, unable to say any words with the lump that has formed in his throat. 

He shut the door behind him and stood there. He could go back in there and tell him everything. They could talk about it. 

But Nick didn’t go back in. He descended the stairs and took a minute to look at how empty and lifeless Gatsby’s house was when it wasn’t entertaining the entire New York City. 

It was lonely.

According to a nearby clock, it was one in the morning, and the house was dark. Nick looked up at the chandeliers, which offered less light than the pale moon glow casting reflections on the freshly polished floor.

Nick took his time crossing the room, not in a hurry to get home. 

Gatsby’s house always seemed impossibly vast, regardless of there being a party or not. But at night, it felt desolate. Haunted, almost. 

Everything felt uncharacteristically still. Nick guessed that maybe the house felt so alive because of the guests, but also because of the sun that illuminated the rich metals and shiny objects and caused the whole house to shine. 

Now with neither of those things, the house was without purpose.

When he got home, the table lamp was still on, welcoming him back with a faint warm glow. Nick turned it off. 

His eyes adjusted to the darkness and his attention shifted to the curtain still drawn back from the window. 

Sighing, Nick went over and pulled them shut, knowing it didn’t make a difference whether the curtains were open or shut. The sheer fabric offered no resistance against the morning sun that would soon rise and fill his room with gold.


End file.
